


Of ghosts and inflatable tanks

by liionne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kinda, M/M, Once or Twice - Freeform, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, World War II, incognito gays, the ghost army, there's some sexy talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9058120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: They were part of the 603rd Camouflage Engineers and The Signal Company Special respectively, divisions of the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops.They were the Ghost Army.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspire by [this post](http://profmeowmers.tumblr.com/post/154516800564/high-key-can-u-give-me-a-rundown-of-ur-fav-wacky), which led me to a little bit more research, and then this fic. It's less plot-driven, more about their little schenanigans, I guess? And also about incognito gays. Incognito gays are very important to me.
> 
> I did try not to go to heavy on the actual ins and outs of the Ghost Army, and use them more as a basis, but I don't know how well that came across. Apologies for any historical inaccuracies. I'm no historian, but I did try to do some research; can I claim poetic license?
> 
> As well as all of that, I did run this through a spell-checker before I uploaded it, so it shouldn't be too bad. If there are any mistakes please feel free to let me know!

"Got our orders, Stevie." Bucky grins, moving closer to him once Steve gets back into their tent; it's empty, which means that Dugan and the gang must be down at the local pub, one last celebration before the hard work begins. Honestly, Steve was starting to think that it never would.

"Where we headed?" He asks, taking the letter from Bucky's hands. Bucky stands close to him, his eyebrows arching as Steve reads. "Normandy?" Steve asks, a little incredulous as he looks up at Bucky.

Bucky grins. "You still remember your French?"

~*~

Steve had tried to get into the army a dozen different times, pretending to be from a dozen different states - he'd even considered changing his name, using his mother's maiden name or something, if it meant getting a few more tries somewhere a little further away.

Of course, Bucky had been snapped straight up, promoted to Sergeant the second he'd been given a uniform. At first, it had annoyed Steve. He'd been jealous. Angry. But then someone had come knocking on his front door asking if he was Steve Rogers, recent graduate of the Brooklyn Academy of Fine Arts. Steve had nodded, because that was exactly who he was, and he wasn't going to lie to two tall-ish men in khaki clothes and a patch with a freaking _ghost_  on it.

He hadn't been allowed to tell Bucky - who at the time was already overseas, in France as far as Steve knew - where he was going, but he was okay with it. Whatever the hell they were up to, it was... Top secret.

And Steve can kinda see why. Even the real soldiers aren't really supposed to know that they aren't real soldiers.

Bucky had joined them after his recovery - he'd been kept and held for a short time in a German camp, somewhere in Italy, he told Steve, and he'd had to spend a little bit of time recovering in a hospital in London, but he'd soon joined Steve and his odd little platoon on the Southern coast of England.

They were part of the 603rd Camouflage Engineers and The Signal Company Special respectively, divisions of the 23rd Headquarters Special Troops.

They were the Ghost Army.

~*~

"Think French dames are gonna be as cute as the English ones?" Dugan asks somewhere in the middle of the English Channel, the engines of the plane carrying them across whirring in the background, leading to him shouting a little - even more than usual, in fact.

"There aren't any girls prettier than English girls!" Falsworth retorts, gaining a spattering of laughter and a snort from Morita.

"Ain't gonna have time for dames, Dugan. We got work to do!" Jones chuckles, adjusting the helmet on his head a little, laughter fading to a smirk.

Bucky snorts, and leans back in his seat. "There's always time for dames!" He retorts. The phrase makes Steve's stomach flip, but it's somewhat soothed when Bucky side eyes him, and gives him a wink. Jealousy is a funny thing.

They arrive in the dead of night, and they're briefed in a building a little bit too small for them all, only a single light bulb to eliminate what Steve assumes was a barn in a former life. They're given a brief history of the division they're a few miles ahead of, or behind, depending which way you looked at it. The troops - the real troops - ahead of them were horrendously close to a German-occupied town, but not close enough to be able to just march in overnight; hence why the 23rd had been rolled into town.

"All you boys have to do is make 'em look like they're further away than they really are." The major explains, standing on a crate in the middle of the room, addressing the men that aren't completely hidden in the darkness.

Like, for example, Bucky and Steve. Steve might be deaf in one ear and thus need to be as close as he could get, but Bucky, the devil on his shoulder, grabbed onto his hand and didn't let go when they reached the darkness at the back of the crowd, and thus, Steve remains. He's relying on lip-reading, currently, even with his bad eyesight.

"We have our own tents that we'll be setting up to live in for the time being - for now, whilst Fritz can't see us, the 603rd are going to set up the tanks, and we'll get the 3132 to set up the speakers and start mixing the sound. The 406th'll start running border patrols and the rest of you help get the barracks set up. In the morning the Radio Men'll be heading over to the real camp to get to grips with the other guys, 'n we'll take it from there." The major says, and then he nods. "Get to work."

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand, and then he leaves, moving straight out of the tent and into the cold night air. Steve stays behind - he'll be little good in the dark, and though he can easy handle the inflatables, he knows he's better off painting the insignia onto the sides of the jeeps, and beginning to sew patches onto uniforms.

They had to look realistic, after all.

~*~

Steve doesn't know how, but his friends do seem to know about him and Bucky, somehow or other.

They're a mismatched group of people - the majority of them were part of Bucky's old platoon, or just part of the crowd released from that German camp and ferried back to London for recovery. Steve didn't mind that - they were all good men, as good as any other, and despite everything they'd gone through together they never shut Steve out of their group.

The only other who hadn't been already overseas had been Gabe; he and Steve had both been art students, and had both been recruited for the 603rd, practically on the same day. Hence why the two of them tended to move together whenever they were all split up like this, the two of them crouching in the barn, painting up the very few jeeps they had to look like those of the brave men in front of them.

But yeah, he's sure they know - he and Bucky are sneaky about it, barely looking in each other's direction unless they are completely alone, but from the way the group tended to grin and snicker whenever he and Bucky did share a particularly long glance, or some anecdote about the two of them growing up in Brooklyn together, Steve figures that they know.

It's exactly the reason why they're all friends: not one member of the group has mentioned it, nor have they reported it, and that's what Steve figures is important.

By the time the sun rises in the morning, the entire division has done exactly as it was meant to do: they've set up a dummy camp, miles away from the front line. German planes would head over soon enough, and assume their new position - which, of course, was entirely the point.

Work had stopped in the early hours of the morning, and Steve had pulled Bucky over into the bar, the smell of paint still hanging in the air. It wasn't particularly romantic, but Steve used it as an opportunity to kiss Bucky gently, rolling onto the balls of his feet in order to meet his mouth.

"Just be careful, today." He says softly, and Bucky grins as he pulls away.

"You worried about me, sugar? Real sweet of you." He teases.

In response, Steve rolls his eyes - it's his usual response to anything that comes out of Bucky's mouth when he's smirking like that. Before he can speak, Bucky squeezes his hip lightly. "We're only gonna be gone for a day, if that - could be back by afternoon depending on how fast we pick it up. We'll be fine. _I'll_  be fine. And if the Germans do troop in, I'll make sure to find the biggest guy around, and use him as a human shield."

"Good." Steve nods, and his lips twitch into a smile, even if he is worried. Hearing the news, that Bucky had been captured, that he was MIA, and then that he was in a hospital in London, had threatened to revive Steve's stomach ulcers. Bucky was the only good thing Steve had in his life, after his mother had died a few years back, and he couldn't imagine losing him as well. He was likely becoming over attached - he hated having Bucky out of his line sight, and out of his ear shot even more. The camp he would be visiting was only two or three miles down the road, but it felt horrendously far when he couldn't see him, couldn't hear him, couldn't grab him and hold on tightly in a crisis.

"Should probably get the second biggest guy to cover your ass, too." Steve says, and before Bucky can make some kind of lewd comment, Steve presses a finger to his lips. "You gotta watch your back."

"I'll watch my front, my back, _and_  my sides." Bucky assures him, kissing the finger pressed to his lips before he takes Steve's hand, squeezing gently. "Now c'mon - we gotta get back before people suspect."

"You know they already do." Steve says, his eyebrow arching as he leaves the barn, Bucky hot on his heels.

"Not the people who count." He mutters, his head down as he follows Steve back to their tent.

~*~

Bucky is right - they aren't gone for long, and there's no trouble, as none of the Germans know they're there. Steve spends his morning with a few of the other guys from the 603rd, sewing patches onto uniform jackets; there was a special place in his heart for their usual ghostly insignia, but they had to blend in for phase two of what was coming up, and that meant looking like their boys on the front line.

"I think it's my turn to tell you to be careful." Bucky tells him that evening, the two of them sat opposite each other at the mess table, pushing their rations around metal containers. Neither one was particularly hungry, if only because they hadn't had a hard day, and they food was terrible.

"No one's gonna jump out and shoot me in the middle of the town, Bucky." Steve says, his eyes rolling. "And anyway, I might not get sent in - I hardly look like a regular soldier." He says, gesturing to his slight frame and pale flesh - though, Bucky continued to tell him, he had actually bulked up over the past few weeks.

"You know for a fact they are, Steve. They ran all those simulations to pick the best, and you were the best." Bucky says, and then he grins, leaning close to Steve. "Guess that mouth is good for more than one thing, right?"

Steve blushes, and he leans away as Morita, Dugan and Jones sit down beside them, the rest following after them. "And what are you two gossiping about?" Dugan grins, his eyebrows waggling as he begins to shove tinned meat into his mouth.

"Stevie's goin' into the town tomorrow." Bucky says, leaning back a little, nonchalant. His shoulders shrug. "Gotta talk loose for a little while and hope some Germans hear him at it."

"Well, one way to do that." Falsworth says, grimacing a little as he looks down at the lump of "meat" on his fork. "Speak German."

The group laugh, but there's definitely a stone in Steve's stomach, weighing on him. He had, indeed, been top of the class when it had come to looking nonchalant and talking loose, but he hadn't expected to actually be sent anywhere, to do it for real. He didn't like it.

"What's not to like about gettin' to dress down and head into town for a couple'a cold beers?" Dugan asked, his empty carton on the table in front of him. "I've gotta walk patrol tomorrow, I'll trade ya!"

Steve chuckles, and shakes his head. "Thanks, but no thanks." He says, and he snorts softly. "Although, boss was looking for a few guys to help with the convoy - don't know if you're interested?"

The convoy was the easiest part of their job, as far as Steve was concerned. Two or three trucks, driving around in a loop, switch the driver every so often in case someone did manage to see inside the cab, so that they didn't think anything of it.

"Sittin' down for half an hour and gettin' away with it?" Dugan asks. "Count me in!" He booms, and Bucky shakes his head a little as he looks over at Steve. "I think I'm in, too." He says, and he gives Steve a secretive kind of smile. The others are busy - Jones and Dernier are working with a few guys from the 406th to dig the tank tracks, Falsworth is on the radio, and Morita has to work border patrol. So it's just Steve, and Bucky, and Dum Dum and a few other men of the 603rd in the back.

Bucky chooses to sit up front with Steve, his cap on this time - Bucky was still a sergeant after all, and if they wanted people to believe that they were a real convoy, he'd have to look like he was a captain or something - the first time around, anyway.

It was already beginning to get dark by the time they and two of the other jeeps headed out, heavily disguised. It made things easier - it was harder to see the dark interior of the cab with the light shining outward, away from them, and the roads were pretty much empty. They passed enough people to get the town talking about them being stationed near-by, hopefully, but the empty roads gave Bucky the opportunity to reach across the seat and take Steve's hand as Steve drove.

"'n what are you gonna say if someone sees us and reports it?" Steve asks, his eyebrow arching, though he doesn't pull his hand away.

"I'll tell 'em I was clingin' on for dear life." Bucky says, quiet; the people in the back of the cab can't see their joined hands, but they can most likely hear their hushed voices. "You're a shit driver, Stevie. I'm fearin' for my life here."

It manages to bring a smile to Steve's face, his head shaking a little. "Yeah, yeah, shut up-- you're worse than me, y'know."

"Am not!" Bucky argues, faux-offended.

It leads to them bickering for the next three laps of the town and surrounding countryside, during which Bucky takes off his jacket and cap and dons a regular helmet, and Dum Dum begs them to "please, fellas, shut the hell up!"

But Bucky and Steve are as stubborn as each other, and their bickering goes on well into the night, to be resolved in the only way they know how: calling a truce and making out under the cover of darkness. It was defeat, as far as Steve was concerned, but it was a defeat that he could condone when Bucky's lips were pressed to his throat.

~*~

Talking loose is maybe one of the easiest parts of the job. They have to wear their uniforms right, for the most part, but the idea is that they're on leave - they're on 'vacation'. They need to find a bar or a cafe or something and sit back and chat away about their "position", their "maneuvers", all that kind of thing. Steve finds it easy - maybe in a former life he was an actor.

"You be good, now. I ain't above beatin' you if I find out you started a fight." Bucky warns, leaning against one of the jeeps, nonchalant as ever. Steve can see it, though, the worry in his eyes. Bucky hates sending Steve somewhere that he can't follow.

"I think I'll have more than you to worry about if I go out there and cause fights." Steve says, climbing into the back of the truck. When he catches the look on Bucky's face as he walks around to the back, Steve rolls his eyes. "I'll behave, okay?"

"Don't worry, Serg." Jones chuckles as he jumps into the back. "I'll keep him in line."

"Make sure you do." Bucky nods; he likely has somewhere else he should be, in the radio tent or something hashing out some fake messages to god knows who, but he has a habit of hanging around wherever Steve is. Of course, as soon as the major appears Bucky materializes to wherever he should be, but everyone knows him to be a good guy, meaning he pretty much gets away with it.

Bucky salutes them as they drive away, which again earns a roll of Steve's eyes. He shuffles in his seat, watching the camp disappear behind them.

"He worries about you." Jones says, and Steve tries not to look over too sharply, tries to look nonchalant.

He thinks about feigning ignorance, but that would never work. Everyone knows their backstory - ignorance would never be believed. So instead, he goes for laid-back irritation.

"Too much." He snorts softly, his eyes moving back to the road.

Jones isn't deterred. "He cares about you."

Steve looks across at him, and then looks away again, at the road. "We're brothers." Steve says. "Or close enough. He cares about me, I care about him. That's what brothers do."

Jones gives him a look that's unconvinced, but before he can open his mouth again, Steve decides to subtly change the topic. "You got any family, Jones? Never hear you talk about them."

And with that the heat is off, and he's free to enjoy his half-day's vacation.

~*~

It actually goes quite well. Really well. They're convinced that they caught a spy - there was a suspiciously young-looking man at the back of the bar they found, his hat pulled down over his eyes even inside, scribbling furiously into a notebook as they spoke.

When they get back Steve is definitely feeling relaxed; they get back later than expected, but only because it was going so well. Though, they had been drinking all afternoon - French beer may not have been as good or as strong as American beer (or so the troops claimed), but for a tiny artist who was 90 pounds soaking wet, it was a bit much.

He staggered just a little as he jumped out of the back of the truck, stumbling, funnily enough, into Bucky's arms.

"And here I thought you were gonna keep him in line?" Bucky says over Steve's head, evidently to Jones, who gives a throaty laugh and shrugs somewhat.

"Well, he did his job and he stayed out of trouble." Jones replies. "Not my fault man can't handle his booze."

"Barnes, sort him out." The major sighs, turning to the other three. "You lot, debriefing with me." He orders, marching the rest of them to the officer's tent across the camp, obviously ignoring the fact that all three of them were buzzed.

Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky's chest, and he hummed, smiling at the ground. "You smell nice."

"Yeah, yeah-- c'mon private," Bucky says, leading him to their tent. It should be empty, and upon inspection, it is; everyone else is still working, or at the mess hall. "Let's get you to bed before you embarrass yourself."

"We're both going to bed?" Steve asks, hopeful, a somewhat dopey grin on his face, and Bucky claps one hand over his mouth, wagging his finger at Steve. "Hush your dumb mouth, Rogers."

Steve, in response, licks Bucky's palm.

"You're so gross," Bucky laments, pulling his hand away and wiping it on the bed sheets he's managed to push Steve underneath. "Worst best friend ever."

"Boyfriend." Steve whispers, and Bucky pauses. It's kind of hard to be strict with Steve when he's pointing those big blue doe-eyes up at him; it makes Bucky melt. Subtly, he hopes, he leans down and presses a kiss to Steve's lips.

"Boyfriend," he agrees, smiling gently before reaching for his canteen, forcing some water past Steve's lips before ushering back down into bed. "Now c'mon, punk - go to sleep. You gotta be up early tomorrow to move those tanks and you're gonna be regretting this when you do."

Steve rolls over to face Bucky, though his eyes fall shut. "Ain't real tanks, Bucky."

"Thanks for the new information," Bucky chuckles softly, eyes rolling as Steve drops off, hair falling into his eyes. He's adorable. And Bucky's in love with him. He moves the hair away from Steve's eyes, and leaves his canteen by the side of his bed - he knows Steve's going to need it in the morning.

~*~

There's little more better than a red-eyed, cotton-headed Steve Rogers doing his level best to obey orders whilst also evidently wishing he was dead.

"Poor kid," Dum Dum tuts, his hands on his hips. He's supposed to be walking the perimeter, but he's paused for a moment to stand with Bucky and Falsworth, watching Steve trying his damn best to do his job.

They're stood at the entrance of the camp, which is the only reason Dugan can get away with standing still for so long. They're still chuckling over Steve's fumbling when there's a shocked little gasp behind them - a man on a bicycle, who had somehow managed to get past the guard post at the end of the road, and had now seen far more than he should: four soldiers picking up what seemed to be a 40 tonne tank, turning it around and setting it down on the ground again.

It's Falsworth who cleared his throat, and turns to the French cyclist. "Americans." He says, a smile on his lips. "Very strong."

Dugan ushers the man away, leading him back to the checkpoint, Bucky left to try not to cry with laughter.

~*~

Now that the real army had advanced even further, they had to keep their guard up. That meant sending in Dernier and the rest of the 3132, with their giant speakers and their pre-mixed recordings, deafening the rest of them and letting the neighbouring towns know that there were tanks moving around and engines starting up in the middle of the night.

But all of it means that Bucky can't sleep.

Generally, Bucky is very good at sleeping. He can sleep through Dum Dum's snoring, and the French mumbling from Dernier during the night, but for some reason he just can't get over the constant rumbling of the base from those speakers, and the grumbling of tanks rolling over gravel.

He has to admit, it is pretty realistic, and when he pokes his head out of the tent he is genuinely surprised to find the camp deserted of life.

All except for one retreating figure, heading for the treeline.

Neither he nor Steve are light sleepers - they live in Brooklyn, by a bar, and close enough to a dance hall to still hear the echoes of noise from the open doors. They don't live in a quiet area - but they've gotten so used to the quiet English countryside that any noise beyond the snoring and the sleep-talking is just too much to bear. He should have known that if Bucky couldn't sleep, Steve couldn't sleep either, and though he would never wake him up, Steve knew where to go if neither of them could sleep.

It was a spot that they'd find not too long ago, a few nights after their first night on the job. It's completely hidden in broad daylight, and seems to cease to exist at night, unless you go looking for it. Steve is sitting behind the rather large oak tree when Bucky finds him, and he gives a small smile.

"Too noisy for you too?"

Bucky nods, sitting down opposite him. "Doubt we're the only ones."

"Only ones out of bed, though." Steve says.

Bucky grins. "Just how I like it." He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Steve, hand moving to his jaw, to his hair. "Did you bring any--?"

Steve produces the little tube of Vaseline form his pocket, and presses it into Bucky's hand. "Had my hopes up." He grins, pulling Bucky back in for another kiss before pulling him down, and then back onto the ground, into the darkness.

~*~

"It's easy, Buck," Steve assures him, buttoning up his dress jacket, making him look smart. "I promise you, it's nothin'. Nothin' you can't handle."

Bucky is freaking out. He hasn't really been on his own since he was rescued from that camp in the middle of nowhere, and now the boss has decided to send him out into the local town to walk around, make his presence known, and then get into a car and drive away again.

But the catch is that the only person allowed to accompany him was the guy driving the car, and as Steve had left the camp the day before, it was someone else's turn to go this time.

In short, Bucky has to go somewhere Steve can't follow, and Bucky has yet to deal with his inability to deal with situations without Steve in his line of sight that had developed shortly after the two had been reunited.  
  
"Look at me," Steve says, stood inside that empty barn. It would soon _not_  be empty, but would have another member of the 406th, most likely, inside of it, waiting to drive Bucky to his location. Still, Steve presses his cold hands to Bucky's face, getting the other to focus on him for a damn second. "Bucky, look at me. It's gonna be fine. It's an hour, if that. Straight there, straight back. It'll be over before you know it."

There's steps outside the barn door, voices. Steve steps back, and takes a deep breath. "You don't have to talk to anyone. You don't have to do anything, really. Just walk around, look in a few shop windows. Keep your chin up." Steve tells him, looking up at him in a way that's almost stern. "You aren't Sergeant Bucky Barnes you're Major James Buchanan Barnes, and you're in town just to scout it out."

"You ready?" The other guy interrupts, but Steve doesn't look at him. He's looking at Bucky. Bucky looks up, giving the other a little nod, and Steve smiles.

"Knock 'em dead, soldier." He smiles, giving Bucky that little salute, hoping to god that he can be at least a little bit reassuring as Bucky is driven away.

~*~

Steve waits for the rest of the day. He helps the boys move the tanks around again, and then dig the new tracks, running his hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat. Every so often he looks over at the entrance, hoping for the car to come back, but it seems to be taking its good sweet time.

He's working with Jones to dig tracks into the ground when he sees the car pulling into the driveway, only just able to see Bucky's face within it. He stops for a moment, shovel in place in the ground as he looks at the car pulling back into the old barn, and after a second, Jones slaps him on the back.

"Go on." He says. "I'll cover for you."

Steve doesn't have to be told twice; he drops his shovel and begins to jog - _jog_  - over to the barn.

When he gets there, Bucky is the only one inside. He doesn't know where the other guy went, but Bucky is sitting in the front passenger seat, the door open, his feet planted on the concrete floor of the barn as he rests his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees.

"You survived." Steve comments, and Bucky looks up, startled. He takes in Steve, a little sweaty and a little dirty, and he smiles, though he doesn't stand. He doesn't even look up for very long; though the lead weight in his chest lifted upon seeing Steve, he still feels a little bit like shit, the aftershock of the panic attack he'd had on the way home still reverberating, shaking his core. Steve moves closer, crouches a little, hoping that Jones means it when he says he'll cover for Steve. He takes Bucky's hand, and kisses it gently. "You survived." He repeats, and Bucky looks at him, this time holding his gaze, and he nods. "I survived." He echoes."

Steve is proud of him. He doesn't tell him as much, but he knows Bucky can see it in his eyes. He leans forward and kisses him, gentle, soft - the one bit of reassurance he wished he could have given him before he'd left.

"We both survived." Bucky adds at the end, and he smiles a little, lips twisting into something that could be a grimace if checked from the wrong angle.

"We sure did." Steve agrees, and he smiles, properly. "And I think we're gonna survive the rest of this thing."

Bucky leans forward then resting his forehead against Steve's shoulder, close enough so that Steve can run his fingers through his hair.

"I damn hope so, Stevie."

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see any more of these little Ghost babies, let me know!
> 
> Questions, comments and prompts can be sent [to tumblr](http://liionne.tumblr.com)


End file.
